IT WAS A NICE PLACE, ONCE THE WARLOCKS MOVED OUT

The old house was in serious disrepair, but newlyweds John and Joanne Fitzpatrick looked past the oil stains on the living room floor, the two dozen mattresses scattered in the attic and even the bullet hole in the bedroom door.

They saw it as their dream house.

But something was wrong.

The eight-room farmhouse on the Upper Darby-Ridley line in suburban Philadelphia once served as a haven for the outlaw Warlocks motorcycle club, a notorious band of bikers driven underground after exhaustive police investigations during the last decade.

The Warlocks, whose members had nicknames such as Scurvy, Mad Dog and Mudman, once slept there.

But John Fitzpatrick, 41, an electrical contractor, and Joanne, 36, bought the house in 1983, paying $43,000. And over the last four years, in the diligent style of do-it-yourselfers, they have worked to restore the 58-year- old structure to its former glory.

Progress has been grand, but a house where bikers once were able to ride their Harley-Davidsons up a wooden ramp straight into the living room does not easily see its reputation wiped away with a fresh coat of paint.

Pennsylvania State Trooper William Davis, an expert on motorcycle gangs, remembered how the bikers inhabited the house during the early 1980s.

"They were hanging out there, living there, coming and going from there," Davis said in an interview. "Occasionally, if we were looking for somebody, we were told they were there, but we never put the house under surveillance." For the Fitzpatricks, the clues were everywhere.

They started with a notation in the real estate listing reminding real estate agents to wear old clothes and to warn clients about the filthy condition of the house.

Once there, the Fitzpatricks saw mattresses where the bikers slept scattered throughout the acre property. Inside the white, stucco house, they met a biker just released from prison, who had no place else to go. He was painting the walls canary yellow.

Joanne Fitzpatrick noticed that the hardwood floors had oil spills and exhaust burns from motorcycles ridden through the living room. There were gouge marks from the kickstands.

A 15-foot-long wooden ramp leading up the front porch allowed the bikers to ride from the front lawn into the living room.

"Got to have all the modern conveniences, you know," John Fitzpatrick joked with a recent visitor.

There were 14 washing machines and dryers scattered in the back yard, and a car -- cut up into parts -- in the basement. A dead turtle was in a tank. And outside, an old rusted safe sat with one side cut open. The safe still lies next to the Fitzpatricks' vegetable garden, too heavy to move.

There was more. That strange nick in the door of the second-floor bedroom? Why, it was a .22-caliber bullet hole. The lead still sticks out from the other side. That long gouge higher up on the door? It could be only one thing -- the former resting place for someone's switchblade.

Those big stones ringing a fireplace in the back yard? Must be the site of the bikers' bonfires. And that "Free Glen Turner" T-shirt that Joanne Fitzpatrick found hanging over the stairway railing? A reminder of a member of the Pagans, another area motorcycle gang, who was imprisoned during the late 1970s.

Undaunted, the Fitzpatricks bought the house, and from neighbors and curious police officers they quickly learned details of its reputation.

According to John Fitzpatrick, the previous owner grew lonely after his marriage ended, and the man befriended some motorcycle gang members.

"He had wild parties, and he invited his motorcycle friends," Fitzpatrick said. "And they just never left. They took up permanent residence."

Neighbors told the Fitzpatricks that the man eventually had his fill of the bikers. Fitzpatrick said: "At one point, he asked them to leave, and they refused. So he figured he'd let the utilities go, and as they were shut off, they'd leave. But they didn't leave."

After the electricity was shut off, the bikers used candles to light the house. The Fitzpatricks knew this, they said, because they spent hours scraping wax off the floors.

Not long after the Fitzpatricks moved in, Ridley police later told them, the police ran their car's license plate number through a computer to find out if they had any Warlock ties. Meanwhile, in a surprise check, the Upper Darby police turned their searchlights on the Fitzpatricks one night as they worked on the outside of the house. After meeting them, an officer told the Fitzpatricks, "Glad you bought it."

Joanne Fitzpatrick said she feared the old tenants would return. So John Fitzpatrick, who also owns a burglar alarm company, made preparations.

He installed 600-watt floodlights that automatically switch on when someone turns into the driveway. There is no need for a front doorbell because an alarm also sounds automatically inside the house.

After four years, the house now shows the special touch of the Fitzpatricks, who favor country floral designs rather than basic leather and chains. The Evel Knievel ramp hides under the front porch and is brought out only for special occasions or when needed. The canary-yellow walls have been repainted and stenciled with country designs. And little needlepoint adages adorn the walls saying "Welcome," "Bless This House" and "Home Sweet Home."